A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

a pome

Your head emits a special radiance
as I put you in my heart.
The secret clink as I close it up
like a suspended bell.
My pulsing veins throb, an ever-changing note
eloquent of long ago, the seething winters
we had thought too soon forgotten.
Then, too, the after-times -
my simple wish defers itself.
Dreaming of a wheel
without a road

Monday, October 23, 2006


I sit on a tack
all day leaning to one side
damn stupid butt zit


A poem is spontaneous
that means it takes a lot of work
to make it look like nothing much
like children falling down in surf
like symphony orchestras tuning up
like down blown in through open windows
it's got to come across unkempt
but that's the unimportant part


Your other poems were like brooks,
with too many bends for me to trace
or follow up; just meander down. The scenery
floats by, sudden bright patches dazzling,
the sound of an unknown bird. The eye
falls asleep to the soothing beauty of the world.
At the end you step out not really knowing
what land you passed through.

Or, like languorous conversation
flits, ideas skipping like stones across a pond,
like skipping across stepping stones:
touch on this, skip over that, and come to rest
here. In a papered front room of a very old house,
two friends sat close laughing and talking for hours.
Who can trace where the talk went? Or where
the talk went, when the silence fell? As,
leaning in, right hands brushed - touched -
in a way that seemed so suddenly

This new poem of yours is short. Sweet...
perhaps. Direct, straight, in a way that is new
and nervous. For the first time I see what you mean,
conscious and clever and complete in one moment
and it scares me. For some or no reason, that old song
has stuck in my head: I like short songs,
I like short songs, I like short songs,
I like short songs!

The Summer of My Lost Youth

Has anyone seen the Summer of my Lost Youth?
What happened to that Summer, those treasured days now gone?
Actually it was more like a couple of weeks than a Summer
Then those guys jumped me and I spent the next two months in a cast
Ah! For that lost and lonely yesteryear of yore! Forever ago it seems.


SAMURAI!! hair-tie armor plate strollin'
through the ancient Chinese world in a rage
he's rollin' through the forest
on his way to find an ambush
but his foes are making scarce
so he gets a little careless
when he rolls across the bridge
well it's not a big surprise
there's a sucka in the way
he defeats him with his eyes
and his sword is always holstered
'cause he never takes it out
til he takes it out for blood
that's his crazy code, WORD!!


This poem, who knows what it's about?
I've just begun to write it out
yet as the end creeps ever near -
it's nothing very deep, I fear.

Memories were made to hurt us

Memories were made to hurt us
Memories of what we've lost
Happy times and cherished moments
'round our necks, like albatross
But memories will fade in time
Those cherished moments, too will fade
We'll turn our eyes to facing front
And leave behind the life we made.


In ancient days,
my love of you
lurched formlessly
among the wilds
in search of you - to feel about
in search of me - to feel inside
down all those days
without a form,
my love for you
grew mad and strange.
'Til we were born,
and it found me,
and I found you,
and we were changed.

poetic dilemma

The problem with a poem is
you can't describe the sky unless
the person who is reading it is
someone who looks up.

they wouldn't get the reference
they'd say, what is he on about?
what blue, what sun, what puffy cloud?
this guy's some kind of nut!

Does a Poem?

"Does a Poem have to Rhyme?"
"Yes sir!" said the man,
so I showed him a poem
with a rhyme at the end
and he said, "Why you fool!
that's no rhyme, not at all!
you can't rhyme 'man' with 'end'!
Why, it's not even close."

Then he walked off askance
as I looked at his back
with a glance of reproach
and a crumpled-up poem
And I smoothed it back out
and I crossed out a part
and I wrote something in
but it's not even close.

The two cats

A poem about cats has got to purr
but this one's mostly lying there
it's found its patch of carpet sun
and it won't stir for anyone.

The signpost

I saw a signpost standing by the side of the road
that said "stop here awhile"
there was nothing else there, just a little old sign
and I took it as a sign as I passed on by

Other than that, there was nothing to see
The road went on forever 'til I left it behind
But at every journey's end, in the back of my mind
is that little old sign that I passed on by

mysterious ailment

I don't know why I love you so much
but when I think of you it hurts
this love of you is way too big
my heart was not designed for it.
It could be in the intake valve -
it lets the love come in too fast
or maybe it just wants to hold
it takes love in and won't let go
but maybe it's not big enough
that's what I'm really scared about
and soon you'll notice, soon you'll know
and then you'll let that love run out.

Certain Themes Recur

Certain themes recur
that's only to be expected
unavoidable, really
poems, hymns, inspired songs
when one lifts one's voice up
one shouldn't be surprised to hear
one's voice. And thematically
-speaking, as well: the same
goes. And the same goes.
and the same goes.

My love for you is self-explanatory.

my love for you is self-explanatory.
I don't need to go on and on about it
it pretty much is what it is. If you have
any questions or concerns about
this love that I have for you, Please!
just figure it out for yourself.
I mean, how simple
do I have to make this love?

Sunday, October 22, 2006

my love for you is like a golden wheel

my love for you is like a golden wheel
or a grand haiku, marching with measured syllables
through a tasty glade of magic watermelon grass.
Let me explain about the magic watermelon grass: it is very special,
in that it looks like regular grass, but in flavor it is quite like the watermelon
that sits ripening in its grove, awaiting the days of its full maturity,
until it can throw off its vines, arise and declare to you and the world
this love that I have.

My love for you is pure like a fist in the jaw

My love for you is pure like a fist in the jaw
neck turning, sweat droplets fly glittering
through a strobe of camera flashes as the foot
slips, knees buckling under body crashing to
the canvas, groggy eyes unfocusing, I'm fallen
and I can't get up, ladies and gentlemen,
the new heavyweight champion
of love.

My love for you is quite like an american of ethnic descent

My love for you is quite like an american of ethnic descent,
struggling to find its place in a no-mans land between two cultures.
Should it speak english at home or be true to the language of its
authentic heart? And where can you get that good ethnic food
around here? When the strain of the difference becomes too much,
then the time has come to cease struggling, lay back and surrender
to the universal truth of my love for you.

My love for you is like a goddamned masterpiece

My love for you is like a goddamned masterpiece.
Hang it on the fucking wall for people to gawk.
Who did it? What the fuck does it mean? It
means I fucking love you, baby.

My love for you is like a mighty business

My love for you is like a mighty business,
stimulating the economy and creating
full-time positions for skilled and unskilled
alike. Since its initial public offering, the
stock has risen like a bull market in a field
of bears, bearing you fuzzy tidings
of this love I have.

My love for you is like a hilarious joke

My love for you is like a hilarious joke
doubling people over in laughter as the
punchline comes all unexpected, your
eyes all squinty, your mouth hung open
waiting for someone to explain to you
this love that I have.

This love that I have for you cannot be compared

This love that I have for you cannot be compared
to animals, or to the wind, or to a mythical giant,
swinging his redwood club above the terrified villagers.
It cannot be compared to treasure, or to fine things,
or to sweet memories of forgotten times. In fact,
this love that I have for you can only be compared
to one thing: a poem.

My love for you is dumb like a dog

My love for you is dumb like a dog. He
don't know from hem lengths and hairstyles.
He wants a biscuit. He's got a shiny coat
and strong teeth, because he uses name-
brand scientific dog chow for his dietary needs.
That dumb dog!

my love for you is like a rippling beast of the jungle

my love for you is like a rippling beast of the jungle
reclining in languid aspect among the high grasses of the veldt
licking from its hideous maw the scraps and remnants
of a raw, bloody breakfast of carnality.
See it stretch to its full terrifying length,
its yawn exposing a jagged cavern of flesh-tearing finality
as it lets out a groaning, echoing roar
of this love that I have.

my love for you is a policy decision

my love for you is a policy decision
made at the highest levels of the organization
and strictly enforced all the way down the chain
to the lowliest members of the rank and file
who grumble at the strict enforcement
of this love I have